A Less Than Fantastic Voyage

10/03/2020

A Less Than Fantastic Voyage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

by Andrew Nellis

a.k.a. the Poison Pen

[email protected]

copyright 1998

[Based on a milieu created by Gator]

 

The end of the world as we knew it came not with a bang, but with a press

release. I am referring, of course, to the Portasizer, that most useful of

household appliances. Think back on it. Do you remember the day they first

announced it to the world? No, I don't either. Like all things which bring true

change -- the printing press, the telephone, the car, the computer -- no one

really pays attention until you wake up one day and realize the world you used

to know is gone.

Oh, I know, you've read it all before. The shelves are clogged with books by

every hack in search of a buck, about how it's changed our lives, either for the

better or the worse, depending on who's doing the writing. Lots of us held our

collective breath waiting to see what would happen, back when those first

Portasizers were the size of a compact car and only places like NASA or IBM

could afford one. I guess there must be people who are still waiting to see how

it all turns out, the way some people still refuse to have a computer or a

telephone in their homes. On the day the first "Portasizing for Dummies" book

was published, I think most of us looked around and realized that half our

friends either owned one or had access to one, and the genie was out of bottle.

The Portasizer is here to stay.

I was an intern at Milenko General, just starting to think about going for a

specialization, when the hospital bought its first Portasizer. Perhaps it was

fate that the chief surgeon at Milenko, Dr. Scott Grildrig, was to pioneer a

whole new field of medicine which became known as endonautics, for he was also

my friend and my mentor, and, on at least one hazy occasion after too many

post-surgery martinis, my lover.

"Vivian, take a look at this article," Scott had said one day, handing me a copy

of the latest Lancet. In those days, I was on call 24 hours a day and rarely got

more than five hours of sleep a night, so if he hadn't pointed it out to me, I

would never have seen it. I scanned it quickly, frowning at the references to,

and I quote, 'quantum sub- atomic reduction of mass in organic tissues.'

"Sounds like science fiction," I said. Near as I could figure, it meant real,

honest-to-God shrinking, like in the fairy tales. Of course, that was in the

days before the Portasizer had come into common use, handily shrinking every

pollution problem we've ever had in a flash of light. "Is this some kind of

silly prank? Who did the peer review?"

"I did," Scott said, his eyes twinkling. "Tell me, does anything suggest itself

to you? No? Well, perhaps this image will suggest something. Picture an

inch-tall surgeon..."

And that's how I found my specialty. That's right, I'm an endonaut, one of the

few women in the field. Oh, sure, it sounds romantic. I thought so too, the

first time I saw Scott climb inside a living heart and repair it by hand, the

way a stonemason would repair a fireplace. The thrill quickly wore off when

Scott started me practising in actual cadavers. You don't realize just how

physically taxing everything becomes when you're an inch or two in height;

fortunately, I keep myself in fighting trim with regular workouts. Back then, we

worked in wetsuits, and more or less by feel. There were no textbooks. We were

pioneers in an era of breathless new medical advances. Then, as the technique

spread, the first accidents were reported and we were all instantly sobered. A

clumsy nurse accidentally tearing a surgeon into two pieces with forceps during

an operation. Cadavers being sewn up and frozen or incinerated with students

still inside. A muscle spasm in an improperly anaesthetized patient crippling an

orthodontic surgeon between two clenched molars. It wasn't a game any longer.

There were very real risks involved.

These days I run my own private clinic, with my own name on the shingle. Vivian

Sawyer, PhD Endonautics. That's me. We've come a long way since those early

days, and our equipment is every bit as specialized as any astronaut's. Advanced

cybernetics takes the place of what used to be sheer muscle power, which is good

because I'm not as young as I used to me. I'll never see my fortieth birthday

again, but my work keeps me fit and I haven't yet spent a night alone that I

didn't want to.

I don't remember the day I met Lisa Brandt for the first time. There was nothing

about her which impressed itself on me, and it's likely that we will never know

why she did the things she did. Certainly it's too late to find out now. In my

notes, I can see that Lisa, only just then having turned sixteen, came for her

first consultation visit with her mother, Jacqueline. Lisa had been referred to

me by a gastro specialist who had met me at a medical conference the year

before. My services are not cheap, and most insurance companies won't pay for

endonautic work. Even though the results are demonstratably and statistically

superior to conventional treatment, it does cost more. That meant the Brandt

family was probably quite wealthy, which turned out to be the case.

Lisa had been complaining of sharp abdominal cramping for several weeks. Neither

x-rays nor biopsies had been conclusive, though there was a suspected partial

blockage somewhere in the upper intestinal tract. There were a number of

potential treatments, but endonautics offered the least painful -- though,

ironically, the most intrusive. It is perhaps unsurprising that many people balk

at the idea of having another person, even a doctor, actually inside their body.

It's irrational, but our bodies are our most personal possession. Even I prefer,

if I can find one, a female rather than male endonaut when I get my yearly

pelvic exam. It's for this reason that I like to spend time getting acquainted

with my patients, to put them at ease. If they like me, they don't seem to mind

as much when I go crawling through their innards.

I made no mention in my notes, but I know I must have explained to both Lisa and

her mother in great detail the procedure which I would use. I would use a

medical Portasizer to reduce myself to slightly less than an inch in height, and

would allow myself to be swallowed by Lisa, who would remain awake throughout

the entire operation. It's important that the patient be conscious, so that

normal digestion takes place. After a brief examination of Lisa's stomach, I

would enter the small intestine proper through the duodenum and begin a more

thorough examination. Within 24 hours, I would have travelled the entire length

of Lisa's digestive tract and be excreted.

It goes without saying, of course, that I would remain safe inside my endosuit

the entire time. If you have never seen one, they resemble something like a

cross between a suit of medieval plate mail, a gorilla, and a particularly bulky

space suit. Full size, it stands seven feet tall, weighs in excess of a thousand

pounds, and its cybernetic servos are strong enough to lift a truck. There is a

two- inch-thick armour of glaze-hardened ceramic which covers the entire

structure except for the face-plate, which is perspex. The ceramic is harder

than the best steel, and won't dissolve in the high-molarity hydrochloric acid

secreted by the stomach, though it is somewhat brittle and can be damaged by a

sharp blow. The suit has its own life support system complete with air recycler,

and a power supply made from a miniaturized slow-breeder nuclear reactor.

Equipped with a whole set of specialized tools for internal surgery, the

occupant is totally self-sufficient inside it. The suit is worth more than my

net income for five years, and I am justifiably proud in owning one.

That day, I would have held the endosuit in the palm of my hand, reduced to the

size at which I would be wearing it, a little bit more than one inch. It's far

too heavy and molecularly dense for me to justify the expense of reducing and

enlarging it for anything except maintenance. Even then, I have found it cheaper

to reduce the technician, if he's willing, than to grow the suit. I would have

shown it to Lisa and her mother, and explained how the suit worked. After slowly

outlining the steps I would take, I would have given Lisa a dozen simulated

endosuits to practice swallowing and scheduled her for an appointment within two

weeks. The entire operation would be done on the premises of my office, which

possesses a fully-equipped surgery.

It was a common enough procedure. It's time-consuming, but not at all difficult

or dangerous, and I did at least two dozen of them a year. And that's probably

why I remember nothing about Lisa until the day of the actual operation, the

events of which have been burned into my memories as if by fire.

 

* * *

 

The inside of the BMW sedan was silent with brittle hostility as Manfred

Brandt pulled out of the driveway. His knuckles, which were visible through his

kid driving gloves, were white on the steering wheel and his heavily-browed

forehead scowled deeply. Beside him, Jacqueline had her face turned away, as if

she was deeply interested in something outside her window. In fact, she felt

trapped in the suffocating atmosphere inside the car, and in her mind, she was

flying free in the blue sky above, far from the stress which had become such an

omnipresent part of their family life. Unconsciously, her fingers twisted at the

pearls around her neck, as if it was a hated collar which bound her.

"I hate you," said Lisa, from the back seat behind her father. She knew from

experience that he couldn't reach her there while he was driving, and she would

have plenty of warning if he pulled over to the side of the road. "I'm going to

run away from home."

Manfred ground his teeth and stared furiously at the road ahead. He was

determined not to sink to the level of shouting, and he knew if he opened his

mouth, it would either be a satisfyingly glottal german profanity or a roar of

anger. Jacqueline was being her usual distant self, floating along, he assumed,

with the help of whatever brand of downers her tamed analyst was prescribing

this week. He despised her for what he saw as a typically feminine weakness, but

grudgingly admitted that he preferred her doped and distant to shrewish and

screaming, which seemed to be her only other mood these days.

"I mean it," said Lisa. "I'm going to run away and let anyone who want to, fuck

me. I'll give blow-jobs to all your shareholders and they'll laugh when I tell

them I'm your daughter."

Manfred hunched his head unconsciously into his shoulders, as if he was being

beaten, which was a mistake. Lisa saw it and realized that her current line of

assault was making progress.

Lisa narrowed her eyes smiled bitterly. "Then I'll fuck their servants and maybe

even their favourite dog. And while I'm screwing Rover in front of their kids,

I'll scream 'Oh Manfred, you're the best Manfred, even if your dick is kind of

small.'"

A white-hot flash of fury blinded Manfred, and he wrenched the wheel savagely to

the side, sending the BMW screeching onto the shoulder of the road. Only the

anti-lock brakes kept him from swerving in a fishtail into oncoming traffic as

horns blared around the sliding car. Jacqueline gave a sharp cry as her forehead

bounced off the side window. Even before the car had stopped moving, Manfred was

twisting in his seat, grabbing for Lisa, who was struggling to make herself a

smaller target by crouching down behind the seat.

"You little whore!" roared Manfred, reaching around, grabbing a big handful of

his daughter's bleach-blonde hair and pulling, causing her to give a cry of

pain.

"Stop it!" said Jacqueline, her placid demeanor cracking as her voice rose two

octaves. Tears began welling up, threatening to make a ruin of her mascara. "I

can't take it! Just stop it!"

"Ow, my stomach, ow," shouted Lisa with questionable veracity, as she tried

unsuccessfully to yank her hair free.

"Fred! No! The bruises," hissed Jacqueline as her huband brought back his other

hand for a punch.

Manfred's poised fist stopped in mid-air and the car was silent for two whole

seconds while he fought down his rage. The sun glinted on the large gold ring on

the middle finger of his fist. Like a bitter pill, he swallowed his anger, where

it became a burning coal in his stomach. Slowly, he uncurled his fist and let go

Lisa's hair. He began to tremble in a delayed reaction to the adrenaline pumping

through his system.

Lisa looked straight into her father's eyes and smiled. It was a gloating,

cynical smile that said: "I win."

Things had first begun to disintegrate for the Brandts the previous year. Lisa,

the only child in a household of more than moderate wealth -- Manfred was the

CEO of a bank which had started as a small neighbourhood trust in Lisbon and

grown into a Fortune 500 company -- was accustomed to getting what she wanted,

and when she was fifteen, she decided that what she wanted was her father.

It had been easy. Lisa had waited until the night her father had consumed rather

more than the two cocktails to which he normally limited himself, and then

seduced him. A bathrobe that wasn't closed completely, a playful kiss turning

suddenly serious, and then his hands were all over her. It had been thrilling at

first, a taboo and forbidden pleasure, but Lisa had quickly discovered what her

mother had known for years: Manfred might be a fireball in the boardroom, but he

was a dud in the bedroom.

Since then, Lisa had played her cards for all they were worth, extracting every

concession she could get away with from her father until her blackmail had

become too much for him to bear. In the chaos which resulted from the ensuing

clash, the household had been totally shattered. Jacqueline had known almost at

once what had happened between father and daughter, even before Manfred had told

her in a clear and emotionless voice. She retreated to twice-weekly analysis and

chemical solace. Manfred kept whatever feelings he might have had to himself,

and spent less and less time at home. Instead, he chose to spend his time

working, and leaving Lisa to be raised more or less by the servants.

Lisa's sly, malicious nature quickly made her even more hated than her father,

who was roundly despised as a tyrant by the servants. It culminated in two maids

whom Lisa had especially disliked vanishing without a trace one night, and

Manfed was livid with rage, good help being so difficult to find. None of the

other servants affected to know where the two women had gone. He become

convinced that Lisa had orchstrated it.

And now had come the final straw. Lisa had been found in the shed by the

gardener with her skirts around her ankles, screwing the son of one of the

valets. It was intolerable. She had become the gossip of all the servants, and

Manfred would not stand for it. Despite, or even because of Lisa's protestations

of love for Teddy, the scruffy young man with the tattoo and the rings in his

face, Manfred had paid off the valet and sent him away with his family.

Jacqueline touched her forehead where she had bumped it, hoping there wouldn't

be a mark. Since Manfred had taken to using his fists, she had more than once

spent days wearing dark glasses or long sleeves around the house to hide the

bruises from the servants, whom she imagined, falsely, did not know. She was

terrified that outsiders might find some kind of mark on Lisa, and that she,

Jacqueline Brandt nee Chanelle, would be thought a Bad Mother. What would the

women at the Club say?

Lisa settled wordlessly back into her seat as her father pulled back into the

road. Her hand went to her abdomen as a sudden twinge made her wince in pain.

Though she often used it to her advantage, Lisa was, in actuality, suffering

from very real cramps. If the pain had not steadily increased, she would never

have consented to sit in the same car with her parents, much less spend a whole

day and night in their presence while everyone waited for her to take a shit.

The remainder of the trip was made in icy silence. Lisa had made her point, and

she knew just exactly how far she could push her father.

The Brandt family was met in the waiting room of the clinic by Sven Holmgaard,

Dr. Sawyer's assistant. He was actually a registered nurse, but with his

six-foot tall, solidly packed Nordic build, no one could ever seem to bring

themselves to call him Nurse Sven. When he spoke, it was with just the slightest

trace of Finnish accent.

"Dr. Sawyer is just getting ready for you," said Sven, coming out from behind

the large, modern, glass-and-chrome desk. "You have done as you were told,

Lisa?"

Manfred answered before Lisa could open her mouth. "Exactly as the booklet you

gave us said. She's had eight hours' sleep, and a big breakfast with plenty of

bran."

"Good, good," said Sven, clapping his big hands. Then if you will come into the

examination room, Dr. Sawyer will join us in a few moments."

The examination room was actually very large, a combination of operating theatre

and electronics lab. The lighting was subdued but indirect and shadowless. Faint

strains of modern classical music played from hidden speakers, and the floor,

while bare, was softly padded and coloured a warm taupe to match the walls. In

the very centre of the floor was an examination table which, while it did not

look precisely inviting, was more like a high divan, amply padded for comfort.

Scattered around the room were three large leather chairs.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said Dr. Sawyer as she bustled into the room. She

wore a white labcoat and her long, black hair was tied back from her face into a

tight ponytail. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes, Dr. Sawyer," said Sven. He and the doctor were on a first name basis, and

they had even slept together a couple of times, but in front of the patients she

was always Dr. Sawyer. When they came to her, prepared to submit their bodies or

their loved ones to her skill and judgement, they wanted Apollo, the God of

Medicine; not the human, and thus fallible, Vivian Sawyer.

"Splendid," said Dr. Sawyer. "Lisa, if you'll get changed and hop up, we'll get

things started."

Lisa took the thin paper gown which Sven proferred and looked mildly amused. She

quickly shucked her clothes and shrugged into the gown, then climbed up on the

examination table and laid down. She submitted to a brief but thorough

examination by Dr. Sawyer. "What's it going to feel like?" asked Lisa, trying to

keep the nervousness out of her voice.

Dr. Sawyer smiled. "You may experience a little discomfort, and if you do, I

want you to tell Sven. I'll be very careful, I promise. If there is any pain,

we'll administer a local anaesthetic, but that shouldn't be necessary. We'd

prefer not to do that if we don't have to. Have you been practising swallowing

the endosuit?"

Lisa nodded as Dr. Sawyer checked her blood pressure. "Yeah, it's pretty easy if

I let my throat relax. It's like a really big pill."

Finishing her examination, Dr. Sawyer stepped back and smiled warmly at Lisa.

"Good, then we're all set. Just remember the rules you learned and everything

will be just fine. No unnecessary movements, no sleeping, and drink plenty of

fluids. If you have trouble staying awake, Sven will read to you, or you can get

him to put some real music on instead of this damned muzak!"

Lisa giggled, and Dr. Sawyer laughed back.

Sven had been examining a piece of equipment that looked something like a large

camcorder on a wheeled tripod. He pressed a button and a soft, rising whine

filled the room, then tapered off. "Ready when you are, Dr. Sawyer."

"Is that the Portasizer?" said Manfred, speaking for the first time.

"Yes it is," said Dr. Sawyer, as she walked over to the far end of the room,

where a white circle had been scribed on the floor.

"It doesn't look like the ones we have at home," said Jacqueline.

"This is a medical Portasizer," said Sven, without turning to look at her. "It's

more powerful, and a lot more accurate; we can specify tolerances down to one

ten-thousandth of a millimetre."

Dr. Sawyer removed her shoes, and then her labcoat, which she hung on a peg

placed just for that purpose. Underneath, she wore only a black body sock that

left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She was a very attractive,

large-busted woman. She felt more than saw the sharp interest from Manfred and

was inwardly pleased. Lisa seemed to be giving her more than just casual

attention too, which Dr. Sawyer noted with a wry lift of one eyebrow. She could

see that Lisa, while not as bosomy as she was, would be a real heartbreaker some

day. Dr. Sawyer, though, was firmly hetero and planned to stay that way, so she

could judge Lisa's physical appeal only in a theoretical way.

"It's going to be very warm inside Lisa," explained Dr. Sawyer. "The endosuit

can keep me cool, but there's no need to tax it more than is necessary. Alright,

I'm all set. Oh, and Lisa, please remember not to chew."

Lisa's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Going on three from mark," said Sven.

"Mark," said Dr. Sawyer, staring straight at the short barrel of the Portasizer,

which pointed at her midsection.

"One, two, three," said Sven, counting off the seconds. On three, Sven's finger

depressed the firing stud. The room lit up with a flash of bright white light,

and there was a sudden tang of ozone in the air. The Portasizer made its

trademark crackling bark. Dr. Sawyer was now a minute, black, insect-sized speck

on the floor. Sven took the miniaturized endosuit from its usual holder on the

counter and placed it gently on the floor, several inches away from the tiny

doctor.

"She looks like a bug," said Lisa with an unpleasant smile. "I can see why she'd

be worried about me chewing."

Sven gave a rumbling chuckle. "She warned you not to chew for your sake, not for

hers. Your teeth would break before the endosuit did. Dr. Sawyer will be fine.

She's a tough lady."

 

* * *

 

The vertigo hit me the way it always does, as the ceiling and walls seemed to

rush away from me in all directions. I stood very still for a second, just

allowing my brain to adjust to the sudden change in perspective. I watched

Sven's suddenly gargantuan form lumber away to the distant mountains of the

counter, and then return with the endosuit in his hand. The vibration of his

footsteps shook the floor under my feet as he came close. Fingers the size of

oak trees put the endosuit down in front of me, and as I began running through

the external safety check, I managed to catch the exchange between Lisa and

Sven. When you're less than an inch tall, the sound waves are so large that

normal voices drop several octaves. It takes skill to be able to catch words

which sound like rumbles of thunder. So why, you ask, don't I have the same

problem with light waves? Good question. The physicists are still arguing about

that one. If you figure it out, let them know.

When I was satisfied that the endosuit was undamaged -- there was little chance

of that happening, since I inspected before and after each time I used it, but

when you're this small, you don't take chances -- I cracked the shell open. It

eased open with a pneumatic hiss that told me the pressure seals were working

just fine. The whole torso swung open like an iron maiden, allowing me to step

backwards into the leg holes. I hooked up the catheter (I would prefer a diaper

but I am, after all, locked in with my own smell) and stuck my arms into the arm

holes. The torso swung slowly shut, and I was encased in a thousand pounds of

endosuit.

Self-diagnostics began running as soon as the suit closed. Green, all across the

board. I know endonauts who will operate with an amber light or two in

non-critical systems, but not me. I don't take risks I don't have to with a body

I hope has thirty or forty good years left in it.

I keyed the throat mike. "Hey Sven, you getting this?"

"Five by five," came the reply, in Sven's voice. The electronics make allowances

for the difference in size and step up the pitch for me.

I took a few steps back and forth, allowing the cybernetics to run

self-correction routines as it slaved itself to my nervous system. When I moved,

the endosuit would actually know before my body did which parts would be moving,

which effectively allowed me to move as if the endosuit was a second skin. I

certainly couldn't have moved its vast bulk with muscle power alone. "Ready for

insertion," I reported. I double-checked that the transponder through which my

position would be constantly monitored was working, and relaxed my muscles.

"Roger that," said Sven.

The huge fingers returned and the whole endosuit gave a lurch as Sven pinched it

between his thumb and index finger. External pressure gauges remained nominal. I

knew Sven would be squeezing the endosuit with more pressure than is strictly

necessary, since he knew it could not harm the suit, whereas if he dropped it,

it would shatter into a million pieces -- along with me. Everything grew dark as

the pad of his thumb pressed against the two-inch-thick perspex of the face

plate.

I had a sensation of rocking motion, and then I was standing in the concave boul

of a metal teaspoon. Lisa's face, as large as a drive-in movie screen to me, was

directly ahead. As I watched, she opened her mouth, revealing a cave full of

white stalactites and stalagmites. The spoon swept forward and I passed under

the arch of her top lip, past her teeth, and into the interior of her mouth. I

stepped from the spoon carefully, the feet of the endosuit sinking deeply into

the wet, pink flesh of Lisa's tongue. The light vanished as Lisa closed her lips

around the spoon, plunging me into utter blackness. I toggled the klieg lights

on, and the glistening flesh inside Lisa's mouth sprang into view. The spoon had

been withdrawn and now I was totally alone.

The tongue undulated beneath me. I forced my body to remain loose as I was

bounced head over heels to the back of Lisa's mouth. This was the worst part,

for me. Once I was in the stomach things would be relatively calm, but I was

going to pick up some bruises before I got there, despite the padding in the

endosuit. It could get especially bad if the patient couldn't swallow me on the

first try, and I ended up tumbling around again and again. That was why we gave

them imitation endosuits to practice on.

Lisa, to give her credit, did it on the first try. I was forced to the roof of

her mouth, and then I slid backwards in a slippery pool of saliva into the

yawning black tunnel which was the entrance to her esophagus. Her throat muscles

held me in a wet embrace, and began kneeding me down her throat. I dropped what

seemed to me seventy-five feet or so, accompanied by the magnified gurgling

sound of Lisa swallowing. At the end of the trip, both I and the accompanying

river of viscous saliva were squeezed through the sphincter at the end of the

esauphagus and into her waiting stomach. After a short fall of another twenty

feet or so, I landed noiselessly amidst the soft, folded crenellations in the

pit of her stomach. The world turned 90 degrees as Lisa laid down on her back,

and then there was no motion at all.

I laid still for a moment, checking the life support systems again, and found

them all green. Other than the usual bruising, I didn't seem to be hurt, so I

stood up and played the klieg lights around me.

Beautiful. No matter how many times I see it, the wonders of the human body,

seen alive and from within, never fail to bring me a religious sense of awe. I

stood only an inch tall in the sagging, meaty sack of Lisa's stomach, and it was

more beautiful to me than Westminster Abbey. All around me, the infinite folds

of Lisa's pinkly healthy stomach lining reached up, arching overhead toward the

tight pucker of its entrance. It was for sights like this that I became an

endonaut to begin with. Even as I stared, the walls began oozing a runny yellow

liquid, bile to protect the lining from the concentrated hydrochloric acid which

had begun to pool around my feet. The stomach muscles began to contract around

me and it was time to move on. I could tell at a glance that this was a healthy

stomach. The problem would lie somewhere farther down the digestive tract.

"Everything okay in there?" came Sven's voice from the speakers.

"Roger," I said, shaking myself out of my introspective mood. I was being paid

to do a job, not admire God's handiwork. "Stomach is looking fine. Tell Lisa to

relax and just let her body do what comes naturally."

"Got it," said Sven. "Call when you need me."

"Will do," I said, and keyed the mike off. Sven and I had a system, and we

trusted each other. Some endonauts like to chat while they're working. Not me.

Sven knew I would keep radio silence until I had found something that needed

reporting. Besides, he could track my location with the transponder, and if

anything like a total life support failure happened, Sven could have Lisa

unconscious and under the knife within two minutes -- which, of course,

explained why Lisa was wearing a tearaway hospital gown.

Muscular contractions were beginning to push me in the direction of the

duodenum. The air outside my face plate was hazy with the lung- searing fumes of

the acid which pooled up to my knees. I wouldn't have lasted five minutes

without the endosuit, which is why I take such careful precautions. I knew that

the acid was strong enough to dissolve even the perspex over time, so I made

sure to have the face plate replaced every few operations, when it showed any

signs of getting cloudy.

What seemed like thousands of gallons of water came thundering down around me as

Lisa drank her first glass of water, plunging me beneath the surface. The

muscular contractions became stronger. Through the murky, bile- and acid-filled

water, I saw the sphincter of the duodenum relax slightly, and allowed myself to

be carried through, as if I was a morsel of partially-digested food. I could

have forced my way through, but allowing Lisa's body to do the work for me meant

less discomfort for Lisa.

I had entered the small intestine. Most people think it must me like a sewer

tunnel made of flesh, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. There's a lot

of intestine, hundreds of yards of it, and if it was all inflated, you'd need an

abdomen the size of a van. For me, it was more like being rolled around inside a

thick, wet blanket. The water began draining quickly, and I allowed it to push

me, assisted by the muscular contractions of the small intestine itself. Picture

a snake trying to eat an egg just slightly smaller around than the snake itself,

and you'll get a good mental picture of what it's like.

Almost at once, I could see the inflammation. The lining of the intestine, which

should be silky-smooth and greyish-pink when it's healthy, was a somewhat darker

shade with patches and striations of angry red, and had a puffy, swollen

appearance. I popped the hypo built into the arm of the suit, which looks, at

the scale I was at, like a long, lethal spike, but is really a very slender

needle. I dialled up a broad-spectrum antibiotic and plunged the tip of the

spike into the wall of the intestine. It might give Lisa the runs for a few

days, but I didn't like the look of that swelling. A pneumatic pump hissed as as

the antibiotic was injected, and I kept the spike in place, fighting the

clutching contractions around me, until I heard the musical tone which informed

me I could retract the hypo. I let myself get pushed along once more.

Things continued this way for the next two hours. I was in what I call "doctor

mode," which means I had little sense of myself as anything more than a pair of

eyes. I clicked a few seconds of footage through the suitcam of the inflammation

around me for the files, but mostly I remained quiescent and watchful. It was

then, two hours into the operation, that I spotted the blockage.

There it was, big as life. I smiled when I saw it. It was a little smaller than

the endosuit, so it wasn't quite an inch across, and it was covered in a thick

cocoon of bile and decomposing food. I could see the deep red and purple

circles, like a target, around the spot where it was wedged into the side of the

intestine, nestled into a kink where it was already especially narrow. There was

enough room that I could probably have squeezed the endosuit through, so it was

only a partial blockage, but whatever had caused the obstruction was also

embedded in the flesh of the intestine itself. I played the klieg lights along

the wall of the intestine, noting the thick ridge of scar tissue where the

obstruction had torn the lining as it was dragged along by the contractions of

the intestine, stopping only when it reached this narrowing. Lisa was a lucky

girl. If it had torn all the way through, she would have been looking at a case

of peritonitis.

It was probably a chicken bone, I thought. I had seen enough cases like this to

know what to expect. I would pull it loose, and either break it up into smaller

pieces or smooth the sharp spot so it could slide out on its own. I could then

cauterize the wound, finish my reconaissance, and emerge successful. Still

smiling, I began wiping away the slimy coating from the obstruction.

 

* * *

 

"Sven, are you there?"

Sven was instantly alert. His head snapped up at the sound of Dr. Sawyer's voice

from the speaker. He knew her well enough to recognize the sound of distress,

though he knew the other people in the room would not. He made a show of smiling

and remaining calm. "Go ahead, Dr. Sawyer," he said to the invisible pick-ups.

Already he was running through a mental checklist of things he would have to do

to get the doctor out of there in a big hurry.

"I need something from Lisa's file," said Dr. Sawyer.

Sven smiled and nodded, rising casually from his chair. "Understood, I'm on my

way."

Dr. Sawyer needed no such thing, Sven knew. It was a code they had worked out

between the two of them, when she needed to say something out of the hearing of

the patient. Usually it was bad news. Sven went to the comm panel and toggled

the speakers and pick-ups off, switching it to private mode. "I'll be right

back," he said to Lisa and her parents as he left the room and closed the door

behind him.

Sven picked up the phone on his desk in the waiting room and pressed the 'link'

button. "Okay, Viv, I'm clear. Go head."

"We have a problem," said Dr. Sawyer. Her voice was the cool monotone she

reserved for crises. "I've found the obstruction. It's a car, Sven."

Sven frowned. "What, you mean a toy car? What do you mean by a car?"

"I mean a real car," said Dr. Sawyer. "It's been reduced to, uh, about three

quarters of an inch, I think. Sportscar, it looks like, mostly plastic, aluminum

engine. Not much metal to show up in an x-ray. It looks like a crumpled piece of

one fender is lodged in the lining of the small intestine."

"How the hell did she get a shrunken car inside her?" said Sven, scratching his

forehead with his fingers. "You're sure it's real?"

"Sven," said Dr. Sawyer, her voice still calm, "there are people in the car. The

doors are closed and the windows are rolled up. The inside is all rotted, but

there are two skeletal bodies in the front seat, and one in the back. It's

real."

Sven lowered himself into the chair. The silence grew while he rubbed his

forehead with his fingers, frowning down at the rolodex on his desk.

"Are you still there?" said Dr. Sawyer.

"Yes, yes, still here, Viv," said Sven. "Sorry. This... I have no idea how to

handle this. What do we do?"

"This car is evidence," said Dr. Sawyer. "I don't want to damage it, but I've

got to work it loose, or it could lacerate her intestine, and then we're looking

at peritonitis. First thing you do is get her parents aside and let them know,

then you call the police. I'll stay with the... obstruction, and try to guide it

through the rest of the digestive tract without it coming apart. If it starts to

break up, you may have to open her up and get it."

"Understood," said Sven, rising to his feet. He hung up and walked back into the

examination room, his mouth set in a thin slash. "Mr. and Mrs. Brandt, if you'd

like to come with me, please? We won't be long, Lisa. Just call if you need

anything."

Sven held the door for Lisa's parents, then closed it behind him as he joined

them. All three stood. Manfred looked grim, while Jacqueline looked frightened.

"Is there a problem?" said Manfred.

Sven nodded and looked away, then forced himself to look back into Manfred's

face. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Brandt. Now, before you start worrying, Lisa is fine.

Dr. Sawyer has found the obstruction, and she's removing it as we speak."

"But that's good news... isn't it?" said Jacqueline in a nervous voice. She was

twisting her pearls in her fingers again.

"Yes, Mrs. Brandt," said Sven. "The problem is the nature of the obstruction

itself. It seems to be an, um, an automobile. A very small automobile, a real

one. Dr. Sawyer says there are three people inside it."

Jacqueline gasped and put her fingers to her mouth. "Are they alive?"

"Don't be so stupid," snapped Manfred. "Of course they're not alive, you idiot

woman."

"Oh God," whispered Jacqueline. "It's those boys, isn't it. Lisa hated them! And

then they disappeared, and, oh God..."

"Shut up," hissed Manfred. His eyes moved to Sven, who stood staring at the two

of them as if he had turned over a damp stone and found something nasty living

there. "How much?"

Sven blinked. "Mr. Brandt?"

"You heard me," said Manfred, pulling his chequebook from the breast pocket of

his suit. "How much? Shall we make it one million? Will the Sawyer woman keep

her mouth shut?"

Sven's face hardened. "Dr. Sawyer is not that kind of woman."

Manfred nodded. "Fine. It's dangerous work, I'm sure accidents happen, yes? Poor

Dr. Sawyer, lost in the line of duty. How much do you want? Let's say two

million." His fountain pen scratched against the creamy paper of the personal

cheque.

From ears to neck, Sven's normally pale white skin flushed red with suppressed

anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden melodic

tone of the telephone on his desk ringing. The room was pin-drop silent as Sven

lifted the receiver to his ear.

"What the hell is going on out there, Sven?" demanded Dr. Sawyer. "Unf! Why is

Lisa moving around? Ow! Dammit!"

Sven looked up at the door which led to the examination room and saw that it was

open a crack. He had taken care to close it quite firmly when he came out. His

face grew even more grim. "Hang on," he said, "I'll take care of it."

Sven put Dr. Sawyer on hold, then drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He

knew Lisa must have heard everything, and would probably have to be restrained.

Well, that was no problem. The big Finn was an experienced nurse, and trained

for that. The examination table had restraining straps, tastefully discreet, and

he would use those if he had to. The important thing was to calm Lisa down

without causing unduly violent movement which could injure the tiny doctor

inside her.

"Lisa?" said Sven, going to the door. He put his hand on the knob and paused. He

didn't want to panic or frighten her. "Lisa, I'm coming in now, I just want to

talk, okay?" He opened the door and walked in, having only a fraction of a

second to realize that the Portasizer had been rolled across the floor to point

directly at the door, and that Lisa stood behind it.

"Fuck you, boyscout," said Lisa, and pressed the firing stud.

The Portasizer gave its sizzle-crack sound, and when the afterimages from the

flash of light had died away, the big Finn was now a tiny inch-tall form on the

floor.

"Lisa!" screamed Jacqueline, framed in the doorway beside her wide-eyed husband.

"What are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," said Lisa, her voice glacial with

frost. "And fuck you too."

The Portasizer gave a second sizzle-crack, and Lisa's parents became a pair of

snall, well-dressed figures on the floor, their inch-tall bodies struggling in

the plush of the carpeting in the waiting room.

Sven had begun running the second he understood what had happened, hoping to

make it to cover underneath the nearest counter. His flight came to a stop as a

bare foot which seemed to be more than 40 feet long slammed down directly before

him, like a huge, pink wall. He stared straight up the massive, apartment

building-sized pillar of her leg, hardly even noticing that he was looking up

her paper gown, and up to the eyes which stared down at him from seemingly

hundreds of feet overhead.

"You stupid asshole," said Lisa with a sneer. "You don't even have a lock-out

code on your Portasizer. I don't think I have any use for you, so, guess you get

to mnake like a bug."

Sven screamed and raised his arms is a useless gesture of self-defence as Lisa

brought her foot up -- and then brought it smashing down on top of him. He

vanished under the ball of her foot, and there was a wet crunching sound. Lisa

twisted her foot back and forth several times, as if she was putting out a

cigarette, and then slid it back across the floor, leaving a long smear of blood

and grease.

"Ew, messy," said Lisa. She laughed and drew a little circle with her big toe in

the blood, then crossed it out.

"You," said Lisa, as she padded barefoot into the waiting room -- leaving bloody

wet spots -- and extracted her struggling parents from the rug with her fingers.

"You I have plans for."

Lisa closed her eyes as she closed her fingers around her struggling parents,

shivering with the delicious feeling of hatred and power, only just barely able

to restrain herself from crushing them into a broken mass of flesh and bone.

God, how she despised them.

Quickly, Lisa dressed and dropped her inch-tall parents into the front pocket of

her jeans. As she came out of the examination room, tucking her shirt into her

pants, Lisa noticed the 'hold' light on the phone in the waiting room flashing.

She picked up the received and pressed the button.

"Sven!" shouted Dr. Sawyer. "What the hell are you doing? Sven...?"

Lisa smiled coldly. "And fuck you too, bitch," she said softly into the phone,

trailing her fingers lightly over her abdomen. Then she gently hung up the phone

and left the building.

Using her father's punch code, Lisa started the car and drove back to the

mansion. She didn't have a license, but no policeman who valued his badge would

randomly stop a car registered to the CEO of a major international bank. She

parked it haphazardly in the U-shaped drive in front of the house and, after a

brief detour to her bedroom, went immediately to a disused potting shed behind

the gardens, where she settled down to wait.

To pass the time, Lisa reached into her pocket and extracted her terrified

parents. She sat in a corner with her knees drawn up, and she placed them each

on one of knees so they were directly before her face. Peering at them closely,

she could see Manfred stood stock still with no expression on his face at all.

Jacqueline couldn't stand, and so she kneeled in her print dress, burying her

face into her hands as if this would make the world go away.

"I'm just waiting for Teddy," said Lisa in a conversational tone, making

Jacqueline look up. "Even after you sent him away, he comes back and fucks me."

Lisa saw her mother wince. "You don't like the word 'fuck,' is that it? Not that

a blame you or anything. I mean, Manfred's a pretty bad lay and all. Fucking

would bother me too if I was married to him."

A thought seemed to occur to Lisa, and she pursed her lips. "I guess I can do

anything I want now. I mean, I always get what I want anyway, that's what you

taught me, but I mean I don't have to worry about what anyone is going to

think."

Taking an outraged Manfred between her fingers, Lisa began carefully tearing his

clothes off with her fingernails, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated.

When she was done, she put him back on top of her knee.

"There," said Lisa. "That's the way I like to see you. Put on some weight,

haven't you? Look at that gut. I guess Old Ironsides Brandt is getting soft in

the middle." When she laughed, it was a soft, sly kind of laugh, the kind that

causes chills.

When she got no reaction from Manfred, Lisa turned her attention back to

Jacqueline, who had her back to her daughter's face and was huddled as small as

she could make herself with her legs tucked up inside her dress. She was rocking

quickly back and forth, and Lisa knew without even looking that she was twisting

her pearls ceaselessly in her hand.

"Such a pathetic cow," said Lisa, flicking a long fingernail at her mother's

back and sending her sprawling, nearly off the top of Lisa's bent knee to the

floor. Jacqueline quickly huddled herself into a ball again, tucking her head

down into her shoulders. "You make me sick."

Without speaking, Lisa used her fingers to tear the dress from her mother,

smiling at the high-pitched squeaks and chirps which were Jacqueline's loudest

and most ear-splitting shrieks.

"Oh, what will the girls at the Club say," mocked Lisa in a falsetto

imitation of her mother's voice. "Did I ever tell you I used your dildo once? I

found it while I was snooping in your room. I thought it was really hot to use

the same dildo my mother had shoved up her cunt. I licked it all over."

Jacqueline, naked except for her panties now, crouched as small as she could

with her head tucked between her knees and her hands over her ears. Manfred,

standing on Lisa's other knee, watched his wife with utter contempt.

"Verdammt," growled Manfred, his voice so small that only his wife had any

chance of hearing it. "For once in your worthless existence, show some dignity,

you useless, spineless, coward."

"Make it stop!" screamed Jacqueline. "Make it stop!" She repeated it over and

over until she broke into wracking sobs that stifled her words in her throat.

Lisa hummed to herself as she fumbled in her pocket for the ballpoint pen there.

With an expression of vague interest on her face, she rolled Jacqueline over

with a finger, so that her tiny cotton-clad buttocks were pointed up and

slightly raised. Then using one of her fingernails to roll down the panties, she

slid the nib of the pen between her mother's labia.

Jacqueline screamed at the outrage to her body. The nib was hard as steel, and

as thick around as her wrist. It rammed violently inside her until the very tip

slammed painfully into her cervix, depositing a thick blob of ink. While

Jacqueline writhed and screamed in pain and humiliation, Lisa repeatedly raped

her with the nib of the ballpoint, pumping it in and out like a huge dildo. Lisa

smiled the entire time. Only once the nib of the pen had been slicked with blood

did Lisa deign to remove it, leaving Jacqueline limp and sobbing, her hands

clutched to her bleeding groin.

Manfred turned his head away in disgust and spit. "Phaugh."

Lisa flicked her tongue over the nib of the pen. "Don't be so smug, Manfred.

You're next."

Manfred backed away a step. "Vas ist --" was as far as he got, before the

massive, tree-sized fingers of his daughter forced him onto his stomach. When he

felt the nib press its way between his buttocks, he let out a single hoarse

shout, and began to struggle helplessly against the restraining fingers. As the

nib rammed home, forcing its way up his rectum and stretching it until the

tissues began to tear, Manfred let out a low groan and turned his head to the

side -- where he was shocked to see his wife looking at him with such a look of

venomous, gloating hatred that he momentarily forgot the agony inside him.

While Lisa rammed the nib in and out of her father's rectum until it bled

freely, Manfred glared back at his wife and bit his tongue to keep from

screaming. He would not give that weak jellyfish the satisfaction of hearing him

scream. He suffered in quiet torment, while his anus was torn ragged, uttering

only the occasional pained grunt.

"Those three shitheads in the car weren't the first, you know," said Lisa as she

stopped raping Manfred for long enough to examine her handiwork. "I used the

Portasizer on those two maids, too. You should have seen the look in their

faces." Lisa laughed.

Deciding that she had done a good job, Lisa tossed the pen away into a corner

and smiled as she watched her parents try to staunch their bleeding orifices. "I

shrank the maids to three inches with the kitchen Portasizer, and made one watch

while I fed the other one to the gecko in the study. It was funny as hell

watching her little legs kicking in the thing's mouth. It looked like so much

fun I ate the other one myself. I had a lot of trouble swallowing her whole, so

I kind of bit parts off until I could get her down. Really messy, and it tasted

like shit."

Lisa shrugged. "Anyway, that's why, when those three guys from the Club pissed

me off that night, I made the their car nice and small. While the two of you

were still getting shitfaced in the bar, I followed them out into the parking

lot, got the Portasizer I had hid in the car, and let them have it. I swallowed

the entire thing whole. Made me laugh like crazy. I could feel the wheels

spinning in my throat. I never thought the damned thing would get lodged in my

guts, you know?"

Like a light switch, the smile turned off on Lisa's face. "They shouldn't have

called me a stuck-up bitch."

"Who's a stuck-up bitch?" said Teddy as he opened the door to the shed and

clomped inside. He wore heavy military boots with dungarees and a somewhat

battered leather jacket. Rings pierced his left nostril, one eyebrow, and both

ears. His hair seemed to nearly stand up on end, stiff with gel that made it

look wet. In build, he was stocky and solid, though not as powerful as Sven had

been.

"C'mere," said Lisa. She gathered Manfred and Jacqueline into her hand.

Teddy closed the door of the shed and threw himself down in a rustle of leather

beside Lisa. Leaning over, he pressed his face to hers, giving her a long,

open-mouthed kiss.

"Mmmm," said Lisa, smiling, when they broke apart. "I have a big surprise for

you."

"Yeah?" said Teddy. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair to make sure

it was still sticking up. With his other hand he groped at Lisa's breasts

through her shirt.

"Stop it," giggled Lisa, slapping his hand away. "Let me ask you a question. You

think my mom is sexy?"

"Fuck yeah," said Teddy without thinking, only then realizing what he had said

and glancing over to see if Lisa was mad. He wasn't overly burdened with

intelligence, and he was forever falling into Lisa's traps. He was relieved to

see that Lisa didn't look angry, although there was something weird about her

mood he couldn't place.

"Would you fuck her if you could?" said Lisa. She lifted her eyebrows

suggestively.

Teddy scrutinized Lisa's face to see if he was being led into some kind of trap.

With a mental sigh, he acknowledged Lisa was too good at it for him to tell, so

all he could do was tell the truth and suck up later if he had to. "Yeah. She's

like, all upper class and stuff. You know, like that french chick that makes all

those clothes. Your mom is really hot."

Lisa grinned in a way that made Teddy nervous. "Here," said Lisa opening her

hand and holding it out to him. "Look at this."

"What the fuck," said Teddy. His eyes bugged. His jaw dropped open with a jingle

of steel rings. "Lisa! Those are, like, people!"

"Sure are," said Lisa.

"Lisa! Man, you can't do that," breathed Teddy, unable to tear his eyes away

from the two inch-tall little pink bodies in her hand. One shrank away from him,

trembling, while the other one struggled to its feet, defiant. "That's. like,

illegal or some shit like that. Your folks are gonna freak out totally."

"Teddy," said Lisa patiently, in the tone of voice teachers use on slow

students, "those are my parents."

Teddy goggled, first at the the tiny people, then at Lisa, and then back at the

tiny people. "Whoah. Oh man. That's some heavy shit. Oh Lisa, I don't feel good

about this. This is, like, uh... whoah."

A little smile crossed Lisa's lips. "Would you like to hold one?"

Teddy licked his lips nervously, and wiped his palms, which had suddenly become

damp, on his pants. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Which one should I... ?"

"Here, take Jacqueline," said Lisa. She held her hand over Teddy's, using the

nail of her index finger to herd her mother into his palm, tumbling her bodily

the last two inches.

Manfred had watched the proceedings without expression until Lisa passed his

wife to Teddy. Now his eyes narrowed to slits. He had no illusions as to his

chances of survival, but now that it was too late to help, he was able to ignore

the excruciating pain in his bleeding rectum to think clearly. Once, he had

thought himself more ruthless than his daughter. Now he knew he had been

mistaken. "Teddy, you imbecile," he muttered. "She's using you."

Even had Manfred screamed it at the top of his lungs, and even had Teddy heard

him, it's doubtful that it would have had any kind of effect. The tiny woman in

his hand held Teddy's full and rather limited attention.

"She's so small," said Teddy. "I can hardly feel her. Hey, it looks like she's

bleeding or something."

"She had a little accident," said Lisa. "Touch her. Go ahead."

Jacqueline made little squeaking noises of protest, cringing away, but Teddy's

fingertip pursued her relentlessly. It slammed her down onto his palm and held

her nearly immobile while its rough, leathery pad stroked her whole body,

mashing her breasts down painfully against her.

"Awesome," said Teddy. "She's so soft, like velvet or rabbit fur or something.

Uh, like, are we going to get in trouble or something, Lisa? I mean, your mom,

she doesn't look too happy about this."

"I don't think it's going to matter," said Lisa. "You ever done a three-way,

Teddy?"

Teddy shook his head.

Lisa, using her free hand, reached over and began unbuckling Teddy's pants. "How

would you like to do me and Jacqueline at the same time?"

Teddy grinned. "Oh yeah, that's like, so fucking twisted. I love it. You're such

a perv! But, uh, isn't your mom kinda, you know, small?"

"Mmmm," said Lisa, tugging open Teddy's pants. He wore no underwear and his

immense member sprang instantly forward. "You're not."

Wriggling his buttocks, Teddy squirmed out of his jeans until they were huddled

down around his boots. His penis, easily eight inches long, wobbled back and

forth comically, in time with his struggles. It was, in fact, the uncommonly

large bulge in Teddy's tight pants which had originally tempted Lisa to check it

out more closely. His unit had turned out to be everything the packaging had

suggested -- and more.

Lisa looked dowm at Manfred, thoughtful. "Let's keep you out of mischief for a

while," she said, and lifted her hand to her lips. They opened wide in a huge

red arch leading to the wet, toothy cave beyond.

"Gott in Himmel," said Manfred, staggering away from those lips in panic. Lisa's

hand tipped sharply upward and his feet lost their purchase, sending him falling

backwards, arms flailing. The back of his legs struck Lisa's lower lip, then his

buttocks struck her lower incisors, causing him to flip completely inside her

mouth, onto the hot, slimy surface of her tongue. Her lips closed, and she

pressed him to the roof her mouth, trapping him immobile and terrified in the

steamy blackness.

With both hands now free, Lisa began doing a slow, sensual strip-tease before

Teddy, with a look of terrible sexual hunger on her face. When she began pulling

her black lace panties down a few inches at a time to reveal a bare, shaved mons,

her expression became indistinguishable from raging fury. Teddy realized,

vaguely, than Lisa was not looking so much as him as she stripped, but at the

tiny woman in his hand. It made his animal instincts ring with alarms, but he

didn't understand why. Lisa was already very wet, her labia puffy and gaping.

Wordlessly -- her mouth being otherwise occupied -- Lisa held out her hand.

Teddy frowned quizzically until she pointed at Jacqueline. He glanced down at

his hand, and realized the inch-tall socialite was making frantic motions and

unintelligable chirping noises at him.

"No! Teddy! No!" screamed Jacqueline, making supplicating gestures at Teddy.

"Please Teddy! No! Don't let her take me! I'll give you anything you want,

anything! Oh God, Teddy, she's insane, don't let her hurt me!"

Teddy shrugged and dropped Jacqueline into her daughter's hand.

Lisa smiled a terrible, sinister smile as she seized her mother between her

fingers and sank to her knees.over Teddy. With her free hand, Lisa wrapped her

fingers around Teddy's member and began pumping up and down until it came fully

erect. A single drop of fluid oozed from the top of his penis and glistened

wetly. Still smiling, Lisa set Jackeline down on the very tip of Teddy's member,

so that she rode it like a horse. The tiny triangular patch of hair at

Jacqueline's groin, already damp with blood, became soaked with what seemed to

her to be gallons of watery semen. She began to cry.

"Holy shit," said Teddy, who stared open-eyed down the length of his body from

where he lay, propped up on his elbows. "I can feel her," he breathed.

Gently, Lisa rubbed Jacqueline back and forth over the spongy tip of Teddy's

penis, and against the sensitive underside, which made Teddy gasp. The most

violent beatings Jacqueline could inflict with her heels and fists not only did

not hurt, but added to the pleasurable sensation.

Still smiling, Lisa bent Jacqueline backward, so that she lay almost

spread-eagled, with her buttocks mired in the now steady leak of semen from the

hole at the top of Teddy's penis. Then, holding Jacqueline in place, she rose up

on her knees so that her hot, dripping cleft hovered only an inch over

Jacqueline's heaving breasts.

"Jesus," said Teddy, suddenly alarmed. "You're not gonna --"

Lisa sank down, deftly removing her fingers as her labia spread to envelop both

the knob of Teddy's penis and the screaming woman lying prone atop it.

Jacqueline shrieked for all she was worth as she saw the black, wet chasm

bearing down on top of her, but was muffled as the velvety flesh of her

daughter's labia passed on either side of her, pressing her into the slick, soft

flesh inside her vagina, pinned in place by the massive organ underneath her.

Lisa continued to drop down, enveloping inch after inch of the huge member. She

knew from experience that she could take the whole thing only by applying her

full weight and stretching until it hurt. Two inches from the bottom, she felt

slight pressure against her cervix and a powerful tickling sensation. With a

rumbling giggle, she rose up an inch, and then dropped back down with a little

bit more weight. A second later she repeated this. Anything Teddy might have

said was silenced as he lay with his head back, panting and groaning with the

need for release.

Jacqueline felt herself slammed forcefully into the slightly yielding surface of

Lisa's cervix, driving out what little breath she had left. The pressure eased, updated20

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